The Beam in the Constant Overcast
by Mandy2
Summary: Part one in a series. The Boy Hadn’t Lived, and everyone who now does lives not in fear but in something much worse: indifference. What starts out as shoptalk over lunch turns into something much more for Ginevra Weasley.


Disclaimer: I don't own anything. Alternate Universe

* * *

_**Chapter One**_

I don't dream much. I get up, I go to work, and I come home. Sometimes I go to my parents' place on weekends, but only when I know the Ministry of Magic is suffering from a large workload so we don't have to all be together in the same room.

Sometimes I browse for a book in the secondhand shops when I've finished my groceries early. On occasion, the gits from work and I have a lunch over the latest Quidditch standings, and sometimes my old schoolmates come round for a cuppa.

My life may not be full, but by no means do I have the capacity to dream. I don't have a boyfriend or particularly pressing hobbies or work assignments, but we do not dream. We've learned not to.

I usually read cookbooks, or books to decorate on the cheap, or even Quidditch history books. But when I dream, I drift off into a book about what life would have been like if He Had Lived.

It's a legend pored over in countless novels and academic volumes, of a life with less darkness, a life with Muggles.

We now feign sadness over their disappearances, though even in my short life I've noticed a decrease in sincerity. It's the way of life, and it makes no use to waste the empty, joyless time thinking of those Smiths and Joneses we started first year with who have now gone to an undoubtedly more peaceful place.

We all pretend to condemn those who wear the hoods and tattoos but we accept them in our families and we never discuss politics at home, disagree or agree. For this reason, I avoid home when there's a lull at the Ministry. Supposedly we used to be united in our fight against He Who Must Not Be Named.

What's to dream of in a world where only our blood saves our lives? Lives we don't even care to lead but care even less to end?

* * *

Another day begins. I'm early to work, beat only by a few of the executives of Toujours Pur Publishing. I'm apparently very lucky to be a numbers analyst for a few publications on the 37th floor. Desks with barely enough space for conferences and power lunches line the floor all the way from each of the corners that contain the reasons for my luck. 

In the southwest corner sits the office of the dashing (and French) heir to the Black family fortune, Hadrian Chevalier. He's the eldest of the four heirs to the fortune, who laze away in delusions of power as their fathers had and continue to do. His father and uncle sit at the crowning jewel of the board of directors. He's our very handsome Chief Executive Officer, and the girls on the floor are dieing to become his bride.

Directly down the floor from him in the northwest corner is the hideous, ill-tempered, and engaged Nestor Lestrange, who is only the combination of the three because he is also extremely wealthy. He is the cynical Chief Security Officer.

Across from him in the northeast is the playful Orion Black, who takes after his uncle rather than his late father, who was forced into early retirement because like Orion, he was considered to be more of a hindrance to the company. Orion, our Chief Information Officer, spends most of his time doling out his work to the older paper-pushers who have families to support and are dieing for the overtime. The other large chunk of his time is spent flirting with the girls on our floor, though they should know better considering how bloody smart they are, but he is rather attractive in his mischief.

And down in the southeast is the executive with whom I'm most familiar, as he was only a year ahead of me in school and we were competitors. Our Chief Financial Officer, the youngest of the Four Pure, as they've come to be known, is my old schoolmate Draco Malfoy.

We enjoyed a mild rivalry in school playing Quidditch; we were both Seekers. Time to time he joins the boys and I over numbers and we talk shop and brooms and stats and ads, and he generously comps our orders in. He was never quite like his elder cousin Orion in school, a confident braggart on his worst day. No, Draco was a little quieter, we all were.

The caretaker Mr. Filch bemoaned year after year how empty the detention halls had been since… Well, his sentences always trailed off, but we all knew what he meant. In fact, off the field, Draco and I were quite chummy, sharing an interest in Quidditch then as much as now. My brothers Ronald, Fredrick and George never cared much for him, but being as I was a Ravenclaw, I cared not much for house rivalries. And over time, we'd all learned not to.

Outside of our division meetings and an occasional lunch over Quidditch, I'd hardly say we were chums. Once in a while, we'd update each other on some of the goings-on of people we'd known in school. But up until recently, we were passing acquaintances.

Until one isolated Friday, when Draco joined me for lunch as opposed to joining the other finance boys at Cauldrons, a risqué sports bar, we veered into dare I say it a more personal relationship.

"You know Ginevra," He began after we'd exhausted an evaluation of the last Arrows game, taking a bite of his premium bat wing sandwich, "Our families used to be enemies."

"Oh?" I asked with a level of disinterest in my voice. I hoped he'd be able to know that he was committing a major faux pas by talking about strife of any form.

"Yes." He fumbled with a magazine on my desk, and we began talking about Madeline Devereux, the advertising executive who was my age and a graduate of Beauxbatons (Hadrian's alma mater's sister school) and who everyone suspected was dating Hadrian.

The funny thing is that once Draco had taken my hint to shut up, my curiosity about what he had to say piqued.

* * *

After that, Draco was sitting at my desk several times a week, and most of the time we stuck to the usual subjects: Quidditch, finance, classmates, and office gossip. But Draco's mention of forbidden subjects gradually increased as bonuses rolled around and allowed the more spendthrift to go out to lunches more often. 

And the most ridiculous part was I looked forward to these stupid little lunches of ours. I began to feel a break in the constant storm. Maybe storm is overkill; more like a beam in the constant overcast. We would end our lunches with smiles, which were only ever seen in the office after one of Orion's trysts, Nestor's hostile takeovers, and Madeline and Hadrian's meetings. I foraged books on weekends to keep up our arbitrary twists in subjects. I even went home more often.

Of course, it was stupid. I felt stupid sometimes, because the days at work would continue as though nothing had changed. But it was different.

Once, he talked about how hard it would've been to get pureblood marriages with any sort of standards if things had been different. I suspected he had been reading the spines of the books I usually put away for lunch, and when he made a wry joke about how slowly standards had been lowered, I knew we'd conversationally crossed all lines of manners and decency.

And I liked it.

We joked about each other's taste in food. He'd offered me a bite of his bat wing sandwich once and I spat it out almost instantly, apologizing profusely.

His eyes merely crinkled, running a finger around the rim of my mug, filled to the brim with a peanut butter and pumpkin cocoa my father made whenever it was cold.

"And you question _my_ taste?" He asked, taking a sip. His face contorted, before looking both appeasing and happy. "I must say…"

I picked up his cup and jerked my head toward the office cauldron. "I could make you a cup."

It was the little things like this that made the days go in and out with actual meaning. But it was a fleeting feeling, which almost brought me back down to where I was before. And I felt like an idiot, because it was just lunch.

* * *

This hadn't gone completely unnoticed, though the majority of the staff lived in the dull reprise of the same day over and over again. I felt myself detaching from that blank chorus, and I felt foolish for feeling that way. One day, Madeline hosted a business lunch at a very chic but comfortable restaurant and after my counterpart of the other lifestyle magazines mysteriously got food poisoning and was escorted to St. Mungo's, I got to hear what the gossip was precisely. 

Madeline's dramatic, dark, shoulder-brushing bob swung, framing her nonchalant and uninterested face, as the sound of Roberta's vomiting grew fainter, her eyes suddenly glowing when she got back to me. "Despite Roberta's heinous shellfish allergy, she always insists on eating lobster, at least when the company's paying." She reached for her pinot noir. "Greedy bitch."

I laughed, not because I didn't care for Roberta, but because Madeline's infamous French accent was charming, and because I knew she didn't mean it.

She stared over the wine glass at me, her eyes twinkling. "I have to say, I know something or two about working lunches."

I nodded, taking a last bite of my own plate of lobster ravioli.

"What I'm surprised about is how open some of these business lunches seem to be." Madeline pushed a generous amount of her chicken into her mouth, relishing it with closed eyes. "Mmm."

"The advertising is fantastic in the last quarter for the new teen edition." I added, taking a sip of my blackberry lemonade.

"No doubt thanks to your brother. He's really making the rounds for the promotion of the good sport." Madeline complimented, smiling at my change of topic. "I would think, seeing how, how do you say, coveted the executives are, some would be a little more discreet when they fraternize."

I laughed, trying not to sound nervous, mostly because I felt I had nothing to be nervous about. Madeline had a way of extending words with an exotic tick of her tongue, though, that made my smile falter for a second. "Orion _is_ rather indiscreet."

Madeline smirked at me, waving her hand to bring on the third course. "Yes. Orion. He really should bring those little meetings of his into his office. With the curtains closed. And only when the floor is empty. You'd think those girls would have some sort of decency."

"Well, those girls," I began after a moment, trying not to sound too defensive, "May not have any control over where they have these meetings… if they even ask for them."

Madeline laughed, her eyes twinkling. She was the kind of person I'd be jealous of half a century down the road, because she was going to age well. "Well, darling, they should start exerting control, if they're planning on marrying into the corporation."

I cocked my head to one side, confident for the first time since this interrogation of sorts had begun. Is that how she'd scored Hadrian, by exacting control? "What if that's not what they're after?"

"Why wouldn't it be?" Madeline questioned, suddenly serious. "By the time you're on the 37th floor, even if you're not in any kind of office, you're smart enough to be the challenge some of those boys truly need. Nestor is probably the only one who needs a meek woman. The rest need someone they're constantly going to be interested in."

I was getting a headache from the ideas spinning in my head. I wanted to change the subject but somehow I knew Madeline would have a countermove for every conversational trick I performed. "It's innocuous. We talk about Quidditch for crying out loud. Between a heterosexual wizard and witch, probably the unsexiest subject matter available."

Madeline surprised me with her retort. Or rather, the lack there of. We finished the lunch discussing the Harpies' star Seeker, who was a rather attractive and lucrative enterprise for many of our publications, and a potential match for my older brother Charles.

* * *

As we returned to the office, the chief executives were leaving Hadrian's office. Their weekly informal meeting occurred there; it was the cushiest and the cleanest, sparking envy in Nestor and actually prompting Orion to show up. 

He held Draco back for a minute; however, and he didn't emerge until at least ten minutes later. Draco's face was unreadable, but Hadrian looked amused.

Madeline simpered at me, and I returned the expression when Hadrian called her into his office.

* * *

The next one-on-one lunch was a noticeable time later, after I'd received a comprehensive assignment to compile the entire profits gained from advertising. Madeline smirked when she'd dispensed it to me. Roberta was still groveling apologetically; I could understand how intimidating Madeline was, but it was getting on my nerves, and, I suspect, on Madeline's. 

"Weasley." Draco called out to me one afternoon. "Do you mind showing me the numbers on advertising for this quarter? I have a meeting this afternoon and I need a summary."

I had finally gained the courage to join the boys at Cauldrons, and they were heading out the door. "But, lunch…"

"I'll comp something other than Selena's Subs." The boys were already out the door, and they were known for being the last ones out at lunch. Maybe that's why Draco grinned when he made his offer, and tapped the doorway suggestively.

My face twisted with a frown. Draco was certainly not suave. One lunch we'd spent talking about the bowel movements of dragons. And even with my dragon-obsessed older brother, I was not the one contributing the most facts to the conversation.

Candelabras were lit. Music played softly. The curtains weren't drawn. Draco had on his reading glasses, though I suspected that wasn't part of the whole romantic angle. He flicked his wand, and the cork of a bottle of wine chilled in ice flew gracefully onto a table.

And I burst out laughing.

The week had been hell. I had to deal with Madeline's underlings and Roberta and other bitter coworkers. It was a surprisingly big and important project and I had very uncooperative people reporting to me in order to get it done in such a tight time frame. And this charade was just what I needed.

"Well, I'm glad the door is closed." Draco said, his smile not fading but not so leering. He put down a glass of wine. "I never listen to Hadrian and why I started now, I really can't say."

With my wand I made the lighting less dim, and threw myself down on the unfamiliar leather couch. For some reason, I had always imagined his couch to be more formal and less comfortable. I told him so.

"I never expected a silly lunch to mean so much to people in this office." Draco sat on the other end of the couch, and loosened his tie. "Do you mind if I lose the robe?"

I don't know what made me say it; maybe it was Madeline, but I grinned. "If it's such a silly lunch, why are we changing it?"

If Madeline's implications were at all right, Draco should've kissed me then, and taken advantage of the fact that Madeline was supposed to be the one presenting the advertising numbers and I had no reason to be in his office.

But she must've been wrong, because he didn't. He merely handed me a glass of mead. "I told you I was stupidly following Hadrian's advice."

I let it go, and I was surprised that I was a little disappointed that he hadn't made a move. I suppose in another world I would've reprimanded myself for lusting after my boss, but that was what was expected of the girls of the 37th floor. I just couldn't believe I'd turned into one of them.

"Mr. Black has been on a warpath lately." I brought up when the comfortable silence started to scare me. "And I've heard in the loo how horny they've all been lately."

Draco laughed heartily. "I love how direct we end up being, eventually anyway."

I nodded, holding back a smile as best I could. But the portrait of Draco with his family hit me like a ton of Hippogriffs.

I wished suddenly that I could care about all those dieing out there, the children of innocents, but I couldn't. I'd become so accustomed to it that I felt no guilt fraternizing with the son of a known Death Eater, and no guilt giving the statistics no thought. We all paid a lip service to it and I didn't know why suddenly it bothered me.

"Apparently, people thought it was in bad taste to print such a Malthusian article in _The __Ministry_." Draco continued, just as distracted.

I suddenly busied myself with the unimportant observation that his arm had found a way behind me without my notice.

"Malthus was a Muggle scientist, I believe, who said the consumers would eventually exceed the resources." I grinned at the thought of Draco pouring over a book about Muggle scientists and their theories, to which he rolled his eyes in response, a response I'd become familiar with whenever my facial expressions teased him about his work.

"_The Ministry_ published an article in the last issue reflecting his sentiments and justifying the… well, it was op Ed and really not an expression of the opinions of Toujours Pur, but the readers are demanding the immediate removal of _The Ministry_'s editor or they will pull their subscriptions." Draco reached for the volume I'd produced over the week.

"Well, that explains a lot about the advertising numbers for _The Ministry_." I said, and Draco nodded, drinking from his glass with one hand and flipping through the pages with the other.

"Get comfortable, Ginevra." Draco insisted. "I intend to make this excruciating task as conversational as possible."

I nodded knowingly, pouring myself a glass as I slipped off my shoes. "There it is."

"Hmm?" I looked over at him, engrossed in my report, and I smiled broadly.

"Your excuse for this relocation. I mean, my desk is hardly the place for making this excruciating task, which is Madeline's job by the way, conversational." I said, leaning back into the sofa.

Draco put down his glass. "It's my job as Chief Financial Officer to oversee all of the finances, especially discrepancies in profits."

I stared blankly at him, and then my face burned before I'd even realized what a grave error I'd made. "I didn't mean…"

"I am not my cousin, Ms. Weasley. I do not perform my job only when under pressure to do so." Draco said briskly.

My head began to hurt again, and I found myself slipping into my shoes without even thinking about it. "Draco, I'm sorry—"

"Selena's again, shall we? Premium bat wing for me, and I'm assuming you'll be getting hippogriff again? No mayonnaise, if I remember correctly." Draco pointed his wand at the fireplace and sent the order to Selena's.

The food arrived a few intensely awkward moments later. "Thank you." I said, my cheeks still burning and my head hung low.

"I really do have a meeting this afternoon, Ms. Weasley. I'll return your report to your desk when I'm finished." Draco said, ushering me out of the room.

"Don't bother." I said quietly. For a second, I thought Draco understood that I hadn't meant to insult him. But I didn't want to think about that for another second. "I've got copies."

* * *

"We have to fire Bones. Our numbers are in the shitter." Said Cabot Howard, the Salem Academy alum as we talked shop over a few cups of my infamous cocoa.

"What about a free voice?" Suggested Riley Kilo, and Cabot snorted.

"What about the safety of everyone who works at _The Ministry_, and furthermore, what about the safety of everyone who works here?" He retorted, and the conversation suddenly fell silent at the mention of politics, which would've surprised any normal witch or wizard of any other time, considering we were talking about Great Britain's leading political magazine.

The air was tense, although we were having another one of our Quidditch lunches. We'd ordered in from Cauldrons, as I couldn't take a bite of Selena's without vomiting.

"Isn't that," I began, feeling brave or perhaps channeling my conversations with Draco, "Nestor Lestrange's decision to make, more so than Orion Black's?"

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Madeline emerge from Draco's office. I didn't have the chance to catch Draco's face discreetly, and I'd really set fire the conversation, so I turned back to it.

In seconds; however, Madeline was at my desk, smirking at the boys. "I'm afraid the bets over the United will have to wait, gentlemen. I need to speak with Weasley."

The boys jeered and hissed but were gone in a flash, knowing not to cross Madeline, who excitedly took a seat and pulled up as close to me as she could.

"Ginny, you've been promoted to become the vice president of advertisement analysis!" Madeline whispered excitedly. "We were all so impressed with the work you've done; we've decided to promote you. You'll have your very own office, next to mine."

Madeline's office was directly next to Hadrian's and was twice as large as my new one, which sat next door to Draco's.

She looked disappointed when I put on a brave smile of gratitude. "Don't you know what this means, darling?"

I nodded. "I've been promoted. A marginally larger salary with a few more hours and even more people disliking me."

Madeline waved her hand dismissively. "They were only jealous. And this means he's absolutely enamored with you."

I snorted. "Hardly." I told her all about our last conversation. And while she looked weary, she was still cynical about my cynicism, go figure.

"Oh, of course he was insulted. But he's used to it, and he still regards your work highly enough to make you an executive with a very convenient office." Madeline winked. "Didn't I tell you that being a challenge was a good thing?"

"Madeline," I began skeptically, "I don't want Draco for his money, and I suspect he doesn't want me at all."

Madeline rolled her mischievous eyes. "Notice the second you made yourself available to him, he turns around and misinterprets your words to continue to make a challenge out of you. With you right next door and right in his daily routine now, he can prove to you how hard he works."

"Despite the fact that I never really meant to question it." I was starting to catch on, though half of me was still unsure of whether or not Madeline was fabricating this whole thing in her head to give herself something to do.

"Men." She said with a shrug. "I assume you won't need any help moving in, but how about some decorators?"

* * *

For some reason, I felt the need to go home that weekend. Draco was still ignoring me and Madeline was still conspiring. I took home a lot of finished reports to feign business with, perchance I'd miscalculated and the weekend would be bustling with my brothers.

My parents were extremely proud, of course, though for a fleeting moment, I could still see the hollowness of my father's eyes.

"Of course my Ginny's been promoted. To an office no less! Nearly corner!" My mother gushed; using my childhood nickname I'd always cursed my classmates for calling me.

My twin brothers grinned at me. They worked for my father locating and removing curses on Muggle objects, and considering the dangers associated with protecting Muggles, this meant they had fairly inflated salaries considering they never did anything. They still lived at home, though.

"Ickle Ginny got an ickle promotion." Said Fred, trying to ruffle my hair, but the charm on my plaits made his hand bounce back. "Gin, some man is going to find that very unattractive someday." He grumbled.

"Is there a man?" My mother asked suddenly and I glared at Fred, who was muffling his laughter in a slice of pumpkin pie.

"Mother, I've been working very hard to get that promotion and now that I finally have, I don't have the time to go looking." I sighed with an enormous amount of false woe. "I suppose that's what I get for being a _very busy_ ambitious witch."

I was hoping to drop enough hints to ensure my mother would not try and set me up with Cedric Diggory again. He was the son of one of dad's colleagues, and had only been a year ahead of the twins in school. He was nice, and terribly good-looking, but the idea of an awkward set up was enough to make me want to kill myself.

"Maybe she should do as Celeste did and marry a Quidditch player." George said as he entered the room, which made the corners of my mother's mouth spiral south.

"Merlin knows wealthy men only want women who aren't challenging." My mother grumbled, and I shrugged.

"Actually, the theory is that wealthy men only remain married to challenging women." I contradicted, and Fred and George leered at me.

"Would you know, ickle Ginny?" George asked, sliding into the seat next to mine.

"Yes, are you really working all that hard or are you spending extracurricular hours at the office?" Fred asked with a wink.

My mother's eyes lit up. "I've heard a few of those executives are rather handsome!"

I let out a strangled scream and my eldest brother Bill popped into the kitchen.

The mood in the room instantaneously went down. With fake smiles perched on our faces, we made small talk about my new job and other departments in the Ministry when my brother Ron came in with Cedric Diggory.

My mother cooed over the coincidence. Cedric's parents had gone on a mini-holiday since things had slowed down at work and Ron brought Cedric home since neither had been cooked a decent meal in a while.

I frowned. "You always say that, Ron, and yet you know I have a flat in London."

My mother and Ron's eyes lit up. "I'll keep that in mind, Gin, but you know, I didn't want to bring Cedric 'round without asking."

Knowing full well what both of them were doing, I rolled my eyes and played along. "Then ask and come 'round."

"Yes, your sister's been promoted now and can afford to cook meals for a few." My mother added with a wink in Ron's direction, and even Fred and George were beginning to be bored with the idea of setting me up with Ced.

"How're things at Toujours Pur?" Bill asked suddenly, and I watched his calculating face.

"They're fine." I said with the perfect timing. Not too defensive, not too contemplative. "Black and Lestrange are conflicting over a few things, but other than that, the numbers are good."

We never talked about my work, Bill and I. I also never talked to Percy about my work.

"I don't see what the whole controversy is about, but maybe that's just me." Bill said and I forced a smile.

"Neither do I, really, but I'm just numbers, so for my department the revenue from advertising is dipping so low in that particular book that it would be financially advantageous to make a definite and clear decision soon." I replied with a tone of finality, smiling broadly a second later. "Would anybody care for some tea?"

Bill grinned an evil little smile when I stood up. I had half a mind to grab some of Mum's gnome poison and slip it into his cup, but I decided against it.

After supper, the twins, Ron, Cedric and I went upstairs to the roof so the twins could smoke their pipe, which Mum hated.

"It's strange, I would guess, to have the office next to one of your Quidditch rivals." Cedric said after Ron and the twins had gotten into another argument about the Cannons.

"Almost as strange as your family setting you up with another." I retorted with a skeptical smile.

Ced laughed. "Yes, my mother raves about you." His voice raised a pitch, and he fanned out his hand on his clavicle, pursing his lips. "Ginevra Weasley, financial genius, culinary genius, beautiful… into Quidditch too!"

I burst out laughing, catching the attention of my brothers, and I shot them a glare. They pretended to continue arguing, but I could see their eyes darting towards us every few seconds.

"Cedric Diggory, darling, what a beautiful man! So sweet and athletic, and he's moving up in the world, Ginnikins! I daresay he cares for Quidditch nearly as much as you do… and what beautiful children you'd have, I mean, if you'd even come to your senses!" I mimicked and fluttered my lashes ridiculously. "Chestnut hair—no, no, titanian! Those cheekbones, your eyes…"

Cedric and I chuckled heartily and then fell into a comfortable silence. After the twins got bored, they went downstairs. Ron and Cedric talked shop for a while, then Ron feigned tiredness and joined the twins.

"Where do you live in London?" Cedric asked all of a sudden as the sky deepened even further. By this point, we were on our backs, staring at the stars.

"In a little flat above Secondhand Galleons. It's cozy but bright." I smiled lazily. "I love it. I think everyone needs to live in London when they're young and have the chance."

Cedric nodded. "So was that offer extended to just Ron or can I really stop by for a decent meal?"

"Anytime." I replied, and we fell into another silence again.

While I'd be hard-pressed to find anything awkward about the situation, it was a comfortable silence out of an agreement that there was nothing much to say. About ten minutes later, Cedric kissed my hand and told me he had to eventually go home. I smiled and walked him downstairs, earning grins from my brothers, who I flipped off. I couldn't quite do the same to my mother, but boy did I want to the second Ced left.

* * *

Ron strode into my new office a few moments before lunch the next week. "Do you mind? Work is heinous right now."

I smirked, knowing full well that work was not crazy at all for Ron, and offered him a seat. "I was just going to review some numbers and catch up on some magazines anyway."

Ron had some of Mum's leftovers with him so we didn't have to order in, which was good since there was no way I could pass this off as a business lunch. We talked about Quidditch for an uncomfortable fifteen minutes before he finally got to the real reason why he was here.

"So you got on with Ced real well this weekend." Ron commented with a grin I swore he'd picked up from the twins.

"Uh-huh." I replied, pretending to be absorbed in my work.

"He can't stop asking me questions about your cooking." Ron continued. "Asking if it's half as good as Mum's."

"It's better." We chorused, and laughed.

This line of compliments continued for a few more awkward moments when Draco popped his head into the doorway.

My face lit up, and I was hoping it'd be because I was so relieved to have this conversation with my brother terminated. My brother turned to see who I was looking at, and I couldn't quite read the look on his face from the angle at which I was sitting, but he seemed surprised.

"Oh, Weasley. Good to see you, mate." Draco said. "Um, Ginevra, there's a meeting this afternoon I'd like you to sit in on. Madeline can fill you in."

"You don't need me?" I asked with a rushed urgency. Draco's brow furrowed. "For anything? Because this really isn't that important."

Draco took his time reading my face, which I'd become accustomed to, and my eyes darted back and forth between my brother and him with pursed lips.

He smirked. "No, take your time."

Draco closed the door behind him and I scowled, wanting to throw something in the direction of where he'd just been standing.

"He seems nice." Ron said with a shrug. "I was thinking…"

"A miracle!" I exclaimed, in the grand old tradition of the twins.

Ron rolled his eyes. "If you weren't busy sometime this week, me and Ced could come over and catch up on the Quidditch."

I frowned. "How?"

"Our boss has this Pensieve with all this season's games in it, and he's offered to let us borrow it." Ron said nonchalantly. "Well, he's offered Ced, because everyone likes Ced."

"Maybe Friday. I usually get out of here early on Friday." I offered. "Bring over all your leftovers and I'll do something with them and we'll gorge out on Quidditch and food."

Ron smiled faintly at me. "Thanks, Gin."

We were interrupted by a knock, and I was hoping it'd be Draco again, and chastised myself for thinking that. But it wasn't anyway. It was Madeline. "Ginevra, we're going to need to talk about the meeting this afternoon."

"Well, you heard the lady." I told Ron with a half-smile, not as eager to rush him out as I was before. "I'll see you on Friday."

"Bye, Ginny." Ron said with a smile. "Me and Ced will be over 'round five. Do you want us to pick anything up?"

"Just dessert." I went in for a hug, and when we pulled apart, I saw Madeline's suspicious look.

We both waved as my brother left, before she turned to me and slammed the door closed. "Cedric Diggory?"

"Hmm?" I replied with an innocent face. "Friend of Ron's from work."

"And the quite the dreamy advocate for the Department of Magical Games and Sports." Madeline smirked. "He's been in these offices a time or two." She jerked her head in the direction of the tome on the shelf behind me. "Grab this quarter's advertising numbers, specifically paying attention to the most recent trends for _The Ministry_."

I nodded and Madeline led me to Hadrian's office for the meeting.

* * *

I have to say, Madeline works fast. The only other people in the room were the Four Pure, and she dimmed the lights, directing me towards the blank wall. "Ginevra, if you please. For those of you who don't know, Ginevra Weasley is our vice president of advertising analysis, and she'll be presenting the numbers for _The Ministry_." 

"It's no bloody secret where Toujours Pur stands politically, I don't know what the hush is about." Said Orion impatiently, and Nestor slammed his fist on the table.

"We're all well aware that you have better things to do, or rather, more attractive things to do, but we have to appease the politics of our readers." Nestor bellowed.

"Or in the very least, the politics they wish to present to the world." Draco added smarmily, and I held back a giggle. He flashed me a weary grin, and Hadrian watched the exchange.

"Why don't we get to the numbers, then, shall we?" Hadrian said, and I hadn't heard his deep voice with his pleasant accent in quite some time. It took me a second to extend my wand.

"Well, I can show you day by day, but the dramatic decline can truly be seen in week by week from the second subscribers received this month's issue of _The Ministry_." I said, waving my wand from the projection of the first page to the next. "Major advertisers began diminishing our revenue at only a few thousand Galleons."

"Only a few…" Nestor muttered under his breath.

"Chump change, Nestor, believe me." Draco retorted.

I cleared my throat. "But gradually, the amount of advertising Galleons we've lost hit a peak of tens of millions."

"Well, then it's obvious what we're to do." Nestor sighed. "We have to fire her."

Draco cleared his throat. "No, what we're going to do is quietly move Miss Bones to a fledgling, new, and unknown book until it reaches some semblance of popularity, and keep on moving her until this whole thing blows over. Nestor, we cannot forget that Miss Bones brought _The Ministry_ back from Hades, and if given the opportunity to keep her job and rejuvenate another magazine, I think she'll rise to the occasion."

"We can't have her screwing up again." Hadrian said, though he sounded quite convinced that Draco's plan was worthy.

"We won't give her the chance. Bones will be our go-to girl for revamping magazines no one will care about. She'll train her replacements and move on." Draco replied calmly.

"Until she runs out of publications." Orion mumbled.

"By that point, the whole thing will have blown over." Hadrian said with a smile. "Good job, Draco."

"The politics are ultimately irrelevant, gentlemen." Draco said, waving the images off the wall. "Ultimately, it's a question of management and a question of numbers."

Orion smiled broadly. "Well, I guess that's done with."

"Not so fast." Hadrian boomed, and he waved his hand at Madeline, Draco, and I. "You're free to go."

That evening, after nearly everyone had gone home, I was still working on a timetable that would satisfy Draco's course of action for Susan Bones. Only two people were still at work, at least judging by the number of lights on. It was seven thirty when I heard someone knock on my doorframe. I looked up at saw Draco.

"Weasley… go home." He said in a resigned voice.

"I promised Madeline I'd work out a timetable for Susan Bones based on the books that need revamping." I told him, looking back at my work.

"Yes, I remember. What I don't recall is a deadline for this project. Go home." Draco implored again, this time in a soft voice.

I conjured an inbox to place all my work in and, seeing that I was on my way out, Draco turned to leave.

I rubbed my temples, thinking about the events of the day. Suddenly, I sprung up, using my wand to gather my things in my purse. I sprinted for the door.

"Let me ask you a question… did you agree with the article published in _The Ministry_?" I called, catching up to him.

He turned to me, looking around, before leaning in closer to whisper in my ear. "Does it matter?"

I pulled back, almost losing my balance as I tried not to make it obvious that his proximity scared me a little. "Not really."

Though I swore he took note of my fear, he pulled me flush against him and I'm sure the move would've looked romantic to anyone else: the jigsaw of our bodies, his lips on my ear. "I don't."

Maybe the conversation was misleading. Maybe it was romantic and not political. Because everything I knew about the Malfoys, the Blacks, all of them, contradicted Draco's opinion.

But that may have been why it was whispered.

* * *

Though three abysmally slow days had passed, Friday came faster than I thought it would. The financial division was the only one not to receive the immediate effects of Draco's plan for Susan Bones, and I spent the majority of those days decorating my office.

Madeline sat on my new sofa idly, peeking through the crimson silk curtains into Draco's office as I worked. "He had a new spring in his step after the two of you had that little moment after the meeting."

I rolled my eyes dismissively. "Then why hasn't he approached me?"

Madeline shrugged and thought it over as I finished draping the canopy of draping silk that billowed from the ceiling to the walls, the effect created by a chandelier of dim, warm candles in the center of the room.

"I must say, Ginny, that you've much better taste than I'd have guessed." Madeline said suddenly, admiring the opium den-like décor I had arranged.

"It's easy to have good taste when the company's footing the bill." I replied flatly.

Madeline pursed her lips and shook her head. "I disagree; Nestor's fiancée is a big fan of this horrid rococo style." Running her hands appreciatively over the golden tassels that kept my curtains closed, she tugged gently and the curtains flew open. "Money can't buy taste."

I stood, stunned, as Draco Malfoy paced outside my office, and I clearly wasn't the only one confused. The desks that lined the floor were the parking spaces of equally baffled creatures who, unlike me, were trying to look as though they were also doing something productive.

Madeline smirked triumphantly, closing the curtains quickly before Draco could find out he'd been discovered. "Told you so."

The crystal clock on my desk struck four, and my eyes widened. "Oh, no! I have to go get groceries!"

"You could at least say you're washing your hair." Madeline drawled, and I sighed.

"No, I'm cooking dinner for my brother and Cedric Diggory tonight." Madeline jumped up excitedly, and I gripped her by the wrist, trying to lead her out of my office, only to run smack into Draco's raised fist.

"Circe!" I swore, clutching at my eye, and Madeline, for her part, couldn't help but burst out laughing at Draco's panicked face as he attempted to, and was brutally rebuffed from, see if I was alright.

"Now they're going to look at me funny when I get my groceries." I muttered, grasping at my wand before standing before the gilt-edged mirror on the wall and pointing at my black eye and performing a Glamour.

"Ginevra, I'm so sorry." Draco said, his voice sounding oddly strangled. "I was knocking on your door when you came out and…"

"I hear Diggory likes the rough girls." Madeline teased, and I glared at her.

"It's fine. I'm fine. I'm going home." I muttered, and I grabbed for my things as Draco sputtered. I was out the door faster than a dragon, and could only faintly hear Madeline tell Draco I was cooking dinner for Cedric Diggory.

* * *

For all intents and purposes, dinner was supposed to be a strange form of a date. However, Ron's presence, which was required for the get-together, impeded any potential romance.

To be continued…


End file.
